


Better Late Than Never

by bubblebucky



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:02:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebucky/pseuds/bubblebucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holy shit, was Steve crying? Man, Tony just wanted some fucking pancakes. He didn't sign up for this.</p><p>(But that doesn't mean he won't help)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Late Than Never

"Geez, Cap, is the stick up your ass longer today?"

Steve stiffened even more--if that was possible, God _damn_ that military posture--and his startlingly blue eyes bore into Tony's.

For, like, an instant. Then they were back to the piece of paper the guy was strangling with his fucking gorilla hands.

"I'm fine, Tony," Steve said, pressing together his lips.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, _okay_ , whatever. I don't think I asked."

He proceeded to the fridge, where he stared a little blankly at several containers before deflating with a sigh and turning back to Steve.

"Hey, are you going to make pancakes?" He asked.

Steve shook his head.

"O-kay," There was definitely something wrong with that guy. "I guess I'll just have to _starve_."

Steve sighed heavily and stood, and for a fleeting, terribly hopeful moment, Tony thought he was going to make him breakfast. But then Steve just turned and walked to the elevator, and he disappeared with the quiet _swoosh_ of the doors sliding shut.

"Huh," Tony thought out loud, mildly affronted. "Usually mentioning death in front of him does the trick."

"What trick?" Clint asked, strolling into the kitchen like he owned the place. Which, news flash, he didn't. Tony did. And technically, Tony owned the fridge he was rummaging in and therefore the pizza he just pulled out.

"Hey--where'd you find that?" Tony asked. "I didn't see any pizza when I looked."

"Guess you didn't look hard enough," Clint shrugged and stuffed an entire piece of pizza in his mouth. With his mouth filled with bread and cheese, he repeated, "What trick?"

Tony rolled his eyes and moved on to the coffeemaker. "Spangles wouldn't make me pancakes."

"He's not your slave, y'know," Clint said, and a piece of pepperoni flew out of his mouth as he spoke.

"I know. I'd never hire him; his pancakes suck," Tony frowned at the piece of saliva-covered meat on his counter. "That's fucking gross."

Clint smirked and swallowed the mouthful of food. "So why do you eat 'em?"

"Cap's sucky pancakes are better than no pancakes," Tony said and then let out a hiss. "Fuck! That's hot."

"Try letting it cool down," Clint suggested, a little sarcastically. Tony glared at him from over his coffee cup, so he threw up the hand that wasn't cradling four slices of pizzas in surrender. "I mean, whatever. It's your mouth. Do what you want."

"What I want is for our resident fuddy-duddy to make me some breakfast."

"Fuddy-duddy?"

"Cut me some slack, Birdbrain, I haven't eaten."

Clint grinned, making Tony wince at the chewed up food he just got a glimpse of. "Why don't you ask Natasha? She makes pancakes _to die for."_

Tony glared as Clint walked out of the kitchen cackling. He called out, "Thanks a lot, asshole!"

 _As if_ he would ask Natasha to make him pancakes. He has dangerously reckless tendencies, but he's not suicidal, even if Bruce liked to try to psychoanalyze every scrape he got--and every life-threatening situation he accidentally got himself into.

Speaking of which: Pancakes. Natasha's pancakes might be killer (though, Tony's guessing Clint just said that to make him feel bad), but Mr. America probably won't kill him for asking. Plus, with enough guilt-tripping and begging, he might actually do it. With that decision made, Tony slid into the elevator, coffee mug in one hand, and the other being used to point at the ceiling as he said, "To the geriatric ward, Jarv!"

"Sorry, sir, but I'm afraid you don't have one of those," JARVIS replied, his British accent probably making the response a bit more biting and snarky. Tony swears he didn't program him to be so bitter (or protective over his team members--what the hell?)

"Alright, buddy, cut the crap. Take me to Cap's floor."

"Of course, Master Stark. Shall I alert Captain Rogers to your presence?"

"Nah. I like to keep him on his toes," Tony says, waggling his eyebrows, and the elevator doors open a moment later.

Immediately, something strikes Tony as wrong. Maybe it was the way the room was weirdly quiet.

Or, you know, it could've been the fact that Steve was sitting in the middle of his living room surrounded by drawings of some hot brunette while still clutching that stupid piece of paper and--holy shit, was he _crying?_ Tony just wanted some fucking pancakes.

"Uh, you alright there, Stars n' Stripes?"

Steve jumped, wide bloodshot eyes shooting to Tony, and he didn't relax when he finally realized who it was. Instead, he wiped quickly at his face and asked, "What do you want, Stark?"

Tony opened his mouth, fully prepared to ask for pancakes again, but... the words didn't come. Steve looked like some wrecked puppy. It was sort of terribly depressing. "What's that you got?"

Steve's eyes flickered down to the paper he was clutching, and he visibly tightened his hold on it. He shrugged.

"Yeah, okay, don't share. It's not like I've told you all sorts of things--"

"It's," Steve swallowed and took a breath. "It's a letter from Peggy."

"Oh." That's--not really what Tony was expecting. A letter from the president, or some rich old guys thanking him for his work or whatever, but _Peggy?_ Well. He supposed he should have seen it coming. His dad always talked about how she and him were a thing. "What's it say?"

"Are you always this nosy?" Steve sighed and answered before Tony could say yes. "It's a goodbye letter. She arranged it to be sent to me if I was ever found. And here I am, alive, and she's--" Steve cut himself off with a choking sound and gestured to a file near his feet.

"In a nursing home in England," Tony read.

Steve nodded, resigned. "In a nursing home. In England."

Steve looked so _sad_. And, God, all those drawings were pathetic--and actually pretty impressive, but whatever. It was probably those big doe eyes that got to Tony. Pepper always said he was a sucker for big eyes. "Do you want to visit her?"

Steve frowned at him and looked a little angry. But mostly sad. "Of course I do. What kind of question is that?"

"Oh, yeah, I see how that could be taken--okay, see, I'm trying to be nice. Key word: trying. Basically, I'm rich and have lots of fancy jets and--"

"What are you trying to say?" Steve asked, crossing his arms, and _fucking shit._

It's just. Steve, he's. Tony liked to joke about him being, like, ninety-something years old, but Steve's just a kid, really. He's, what, twenty six? Maybe? And he's been through so much; people have used him over and over again and taken _everything_ from him and, yeah, so what if Tony can relate? He's still nothing like that star-spangled stick in the mud.

"I'll pay for your trip to England so you can bang your lady."

Steve's face went totally pink, and it was almost worth the pillow to the face to see him spluttering so hilariously. And through the stammered denials and the embarrassment, Tony could see a genuine gratefulness in the kid that made his chest feel all warm and full. It was awful. He's never doing that again.

But, Tony had to admit, it was worth that little bit of discomfort to see Steve get off the plane two weeks later after his trip to England, looking emotionally exhausted but also reassured.

Tony still asked, "So how was the sex? Wrinkly?"

Steve glared, but it fell away quickly. Tony was horrified to hear him say, "Hey, Tony? Thanks. It--I really loved seeing her. It meant a lot to me."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure she was pretty thrilled to see your ass again," Tony replied, faux-casual, nodding once at Steve. "Better late than never, right?"

Steve smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder as he passed. "That's what she said."

"Wait--was that--Hey! Was that a dirty joke, or did Peggy say that to you? Or did Peggy make a dirty joke? Capsicle! This is importa--stop laughing, Barton!"


End file.
